The Nobody
by Zerafall
Summary: Jaune Arc, former Huntsman-aspirant and new arrival in Vale, is about to find out that his life is going to take a very...interesting turn. Romance? Criminals? Conspiracies? Bloody battles to the death? How's a seventeen-year-old nobody supposed to deal with all of this? The answer: by winging it. Crosspost from Questionable Questing.
1. Gasoline

Your name is Jaune Arc, and you are a nobody. Always have been, always will be.

You had big dreams, though - become a Huntsman, save the world and all the junk -, but you know better now. You know that it takes a certain kind of person to stand up to a world that pushes you down.

You are not that kind of person.

And so you ran from home, espousing some spiel to your parents about 'independence' and 'getting away from your sisters' shadows'. They let you, no matter how reluctantly, you're seventeen now, after all. And now you're here in Vale City. A new start, a new chance to find worth.

You chew your bottom lip. It's far, _far_ larger than the comfy little village you used to call your home - it's almost impersonal, even. You're not sure if you like that. Vale seems malicious in the evening light, Dust lamps bathing the streets in luminescence as people walk past massive, sturdy buildings.

Panic swirls, coloring your thoughts. You feel nauseous, and it's not because of your motion sickness acting up, for once. What are you going to _do_? You have no plan, no friends, no resources (other than some lien given to your by your father, but even that will dry up soon if you don't get a source of income). Nothing, you have nothing.

"Hey," someone says from beside you, almost making you jump out of your own skin. "You okay there?"

You snap your head to them, so fast that they take half a step back. She's really cute, beautiful even. Your heart spikes at that; you gulp. Your spit does not go down easy. She looks sort of caught-off guard by your reaction, not that you can blame her. You're pretty sure you look more skittish than a cornered rat.

"Y-yeah." She doesn't seem convinced. "I'm just...a little overwhelmed right now."

She smiles at that, sympathetic. "Vale _can_ be a bit much for first-time visitors." She appraises you, then. "Where you from?"

"A village a little ways from Vale." You take the opportunity to examine her a little bit closer. She has white hair, cut to her shoulders and worn in a cute little pony tail; and her eyes are an iridescent green. Her features are delicate, and ageless. She could be anywhere from her twenties to her forties.

The most eye-catching thing about her though, is her outfit.

A black suit with a red tie, crimson shades in her coat pocket. The outfit is clearly made for men, but she makes it work. Business woman, maybe? But what's that bulge you spy at the side of her suit jacket?

"Checking me out, huh?"

You startle out of your examination of her, seeing her watching you with a spark of mischief in her eyes, and a smirk that makes your heart want to beat out of your chest. You look away, mumbling an apology, face burning. You inwardly curse your weakness for women in suits.

You hear her chuckle. "Aw. Chin up." Your eyes widen as you feel her delicate, soft fingers wrap around your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze once more. She winks, as you struggle a little in her grasp. "I'm not mad."

And then she releases you. You take a step back from her, much to her amusement. It's not like you're usually _this_ much of a gibbering wreck when dealing with girls. But you've never encountered someone this...this _forward_.

"Now I _know_ you aren't from the city. I'd have known if such a cute guy like you was around." You're a bit embarrassed that she's having so much fun at your expense, and she must see it in you off-put expression, as she suddenly changes stances - adopting a welcoming smile that you're not sure you can trust.

"The name's Ivory." She winks, leaving a hand outstretched for you to shake. "But _you_ can call me your tour-guide for the evening."

You're not gonna lie, you're pretty intimidated by her, but your mother didn't raise a hooligan. You gingerly accept her hand shake, trying - and failing - not to let how her thumb brushes against your knuckles affect you. Her smile widens as she feels the tense, almost robotic way you shake her hand. You feel like a particularly juicy piece of meat in front of her, with how she looks at you.

"My name's Jaune Arc. Nice to meet you." You'd pull off your whole usual M.O when introducing yourself to cute girls, but you simply can't muster up the gumption. "And what did you mean by being my 'tour-guide'?"

You attempt to break the hand shake, but she's still gripping your hand, caressing your knuckles in slow, pleasurable circles. Are...are you about to be taken advantage of right now? That actually happens in real life? You're not sure whether to praise your luck, or to curse it.

She makes a cute little humming noise, taking a step towards you, to regain the distance that had been lost. She opens her mouth, revealing a tiny, red tongue that she runs over the surface of her lips, glossing over them and leaving a sheen that glints in the Dust-light. The motion leaves your mouth dreadfully dry. She leans in - closer than you'd say you're comfortable with, and just when you're about to push her away (though you're not sure if you can muster up the strength of will to really _try_ ), she stops.

She's so close, close enough that you're inhaling her scent - a heady, alcoholic aroma that's swirling around in your mind, pushing away all of your thoughts. You're starting to feel light-headed.

She playfully blows some air at you, tickling your nose. And giggling as you recoil slightly from the cool sensation.

"It's exactly what it sounds like," she purrs. "I'm gonna show you around. And show you how we have... _fun_ here in Vale..."

She winks.

"You up for it?"

Your gulp is very loud to your own ears.

"Okay. Yeah. Sure." You try to look confident, sure of yourself, but you're pretty sure of the fact that you're failing quite horribly. You back away, tugging lightly to free the hand that's still in her grasp, she lets you, that perpetual smirk still on her face.

"Great!" She beams, turning on her heel, and starting to walk in a seemingly random direction. For a second you think she's going to leave you here alone in the cool Valean air with nothing but the occasional passersby to keep you company, and you're not sure if you would like that. But then she looks over her shoulder at you, flashing you a faux-annoyed expression. "Come on, the night's still young!" And then she keeps walking.

You contemplate just running away, but a second later you shake your head and go after her. It _would_ be awfully rude if you left after agreeing to her offered 'tour'. You fall into a brisk jog to catch up to her, and when you're beside her (but with a healthy distance to separate you two) you adopt a more sedate pace.

As the two of you walk, your surroundings shift: buildings shift from clean and well-maintained, to vandalized and dilapidated; more people walk the streets, and you spot some unsavory folks eyeing the two of you with hints of greed in their eyes; perhaps the atmosphere is the most dramatic change of all, though - where before it had been quiet, but safe, now whispers linger in the night air, laughing too, It feels dangerous, in this part of Vale.

Despite your efforts, paranoia clouds your mind. Are you being lured somewhere. To be mugged? Kidnapped? Murdered?

You shake you head. No, of course not. You're being ridiculous - while you've only known Ivory for a very short while, she didn't strike you as the type of person to do that. You're sure that while her intentions might not be _strictly_ benign, she wouldn't do anything malicious either. Some would say that you're being too trusting of a literal stranger. But it's like how Mom always used to say. 'Strangers are just friends you haven't met yet.'

Having said that, though. You really wanna know where you're going. If only to ease your nerves.

"So where are we going?" You ask her after a little while of walking, shooting her an inquiring look. Green eyes shimmer as she tilts her head at you, as if considering your question.

"Well..." She taps her chin, face scrunching up in adorable befuddlement. She reminds you of one of your younger sisters, when she's like this, and not making you want to combust out of embarrassment. Which is quite remarkable, really - considering she's roughly equal to your not insignificant height, and most likely older than you.

"Wouldn't it be more exciting for you if it was a surprise?" She asks you, voice dipping until you can barely hear her, turning from predatory and mature to meek and innocent in an instant. She's closer than you remember her being - she must have been subtly walking closer to you, with you being none the wiser. You gulp as her shoulders touch yours.

You quickly make some more distance between you two, squeaking. She giggles as you look away from her.

"Ah. I guess so..." You find yourself mumbling.

You try to ignore the impossible woman walking beside you, shying away as she attempts to close the distance. Eventually, you hear something. A dull thrum of music, it's distant, but unmistakable in its almost annoying pomp. You notice people walking to and from the building, and a long line of people in flamboyant and borderline scandalous clothing forming standing in front of said building.

"Is that where we're going?" You ask.

Ivory nods, grinning. "Come on," she says, hurrying her pace. "I wanna show you the funnest place in Vale."

You hurry your pace to match hers, lest you be left in her dust. As you near the building - large, and almost antiquated. Tinted windows glinting with the dimmer Dust-lights of this time, and from the large neon sign glowing a dull crimson that denotes this establishment as 'The Club' - you're taken aback by the sheer number of people wanting to get in. From Vacuans, to Atleasians; from humans, to Faunus. It seems everyone wants to get into The Club. No matter who they are.

But they're barred by the bouncers, black and crimson suits, with crimson shades and ebony hats. A familiar outfit.

"You work here?" You ask Ivory, shocked. Ivory nods, and pulls on you sleeve, when you make to integrate into the line. When you shoot her a quizzical look, she shakes her head, and instead leads you to the front, bypassing the line entirely.

When you move to question her actions, she shushes you, simply winking and whispering. "Trust me."

You get some very nasty sneers and remarks as you make your way up the line. You try not to let it bother you, keeping your head down. Ivory doesn't even seem to care. You stop in front of the bouncers, who likely recognize Ivory.

"Hey," she greets the bouncers with a dismissive wave of a hand. "Let us in." You gape at Ivory's disrespect, sure that the dangerous and visibly armed looking men are going to throw a fit. Instead, they just nod respectfully, stepping to the side and ignoring the hollers of the line of party-goers. She enters the club, through the peculiar steel doors that serves as the entrance, a swagger in her step. When you move to follow her, the bouncers block your way, glowering. You shrink back.

"The blonde's with me," Ivory calls out, not even deigning to look back. She's almost a different woman here, cold - with an aura of authority around her. The bouncers look at each other, shrug, and eventually let you pass.

Immediately, you feel the air shift. Pounding, rhythmic music drowns out all other sounds - you can hardly hear yourself think anymore. The scent of alcohol soaks into the very carpet you're standing on, in the walls, the ceiling. And this is just the _lobby_. What's the club proper like?

You feel someone touch your shoulder, you turn your eyes to look at Ivory. She looks stunning in this light. With her black suit, not fully able to hide the swell of her breasts and her green eyes almost glittering. There's no trace of the calm, in control woman from before. She's back to being the teasing Ivory, judging by the smirk she shoots your way.

"Well?" She asks somewhat impatiently.

"What?"

"Music didn't already deafen you, did it?" You rub your head a bit sheepishly, inclining your head in apology. Ivory rolls her eyes fondly.

"I said. Do you wanna go have some fun?"

You look away. "I've, uh, never been to a club before." It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but its true - your village never had something like a club.

Ivory taps her chin, making that adorable thinking face again. You struggle to not stare, lest you be caught and mercilessly teased for all of eternity. "That settles it, then." She seems to have come to a decision, leveling a finger at your face.

"Settles what?" You ask, confused.

"I'm going to show you the wonders of clubbing, of course!" She answers, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You open your mouth, to perhaps object, but she's already making way to the club proper, shooting you a maniacal grin. Somehow, you know that she'll make you pay if you don't some with. So, sighing and bemoaning your fate, you follow after her.

If you though the _lounge_ was overwhelming, then the club proper was something beyond that. A veritable wall of bodies gyrated in the dance floor, dancing to the almost ear-rupturing music, though it would be sort of misleading to call it dancing - more like a gyration of the body, the grinding of flesh on flesh. It's too much. You turn away. But no matter where you turn, you can still smell it.

Sweat. Alcohol. This place _should_ smell awful. Instead it smells almost enticing.

"Amazing isn't it?" You feel an arm wrap around your shoulders, and for once, you don't react in a flustered manner, still in shock. There's just so much going on. A guy gets slapped by a girl. Two women are making out in the corner. Someone downs shot after shot of something murky and certainly alcoholic, to the cheering of his friends. This is the largest congregation of people that you've ever seen.

"Yeah." You nod dumbly, as Ivory leads you to the main bar, where a large man dressed in a long-sleeved buttoned shirt, with a red tie, under a sleeveless black vest is polishing a shot glass. He has slicked black raven hair, a trimmed beard, and a severe frown on his face. His eyes lock onto the pair of you as you approach, favoring Ivory with a smile, and you with a raised brow.

"Ivory." The man greets.

"Junior," Ivory greets back.

Ivory takes a seat on one of the vacant stools, beckoning you to the same to the one at her side. Instead you take the one a seat further away, to which she snickers at, Junior following suit as he watches your byplay.

"Who's this?" He gestures at you. You feel a little bit offended that he isn't asking you yourself, but you just keep your trap shut.

"His name's Jaune, he's a new arrival who I'm showing around Vale." Junior raises an eyebrow at that.

"Awfully generous of you." He points out, to which Ivory shrugs.

"What can I say? I'm a generous gal."

You feel like you're missing a lot of context for this conversation.

Someone calls Junior over - an orange-haired man wearing a bowler hat -, to which he grunts. Setting the glass down and leaving with a nod to Ivory and you.

"Who was that?" You ask, intrigued.

"Why? Jealous?" Ivory scoots over, taking a seat closer to you. You take a seat further away as a consequence. She laughs.

"He's my boss, the owner of this club." she eventually relents."Hei 'Junior' Xiong. He likes taking the bartender's spot once and while, to keep a personal eye on things y,know?"

You nod slowly.

"So," Ivory starts, grinning at you, elbows propped against the bar. "We're at The Club. We can do a _lot_ of stuff here." She bats her eyelashes at you. "And we've got the whole night to do it. What do you wanna do first?"

"How about dancing?" You ask, eager to do something that you actually have some measure of competence and talent in. Ivory looks surprised at your choice, and you don't blame her - you don't exactly carry yourself like a masterful dancer -, but she doesn't seem opposed to the idea.

"Dancing, huh?" She asks, and then she nods a second later, grinning. "Yeah, I can dig that." She gets up, hauling you with, ignoring your objections all the while.

"You sure you're any good, blondie?" She asks mockingly, practically dragging you to the dance-floor, skillfully gliding past shambling drunks and the like. You bristle at that, at the insinuation you're anything _but_ stellar at dancing. You didn't suffer through all the humiliation of dancing lessons - forced onto you by your mother and sisters - just to be mocked. You'll show her just how _good_ you are!

"Bet I'm better than you," you shoot back. Ivory laughs, making you bristle as she makes a clawing motion with her free hand.

"Ooh, cat's got claws," she mocks.

You and Ivory are a few steps away from the sea of bodies gyrating on the crimson floor. You gulp as you near the dance-floor. It looks so...intimidating up close like this.

A second later and you shake your head, expression steeling with resolve. You won't let something like this stop you! You'll wipe that stupid smirk off Ivory's face, show her who's the real Dancing King! You leave behind your doubts, your insecurities, and take Ivory's hand in your own as you enter the sea of bodies, the dance-floor.

"Whoa, where'd the dork go?" Ivory says, looking like the one being taken-aback, for once. Is that a tint of red you spy pooling in her cheeks, or is it the lighting? You smirk at her, confident and at ease. You're in your element here, and she's already written the cheque on her own fate - you're gonna pay her back, a thousand-fold, for all of her teasing.

You find a spot that has relatively few people, never taking your hand off hers. You feel light, you feel like you're _somebody_ here. Confidence fills you, a foreign but empowering feeling that births goose-bumps on your skin, and puts a grin that's probably more at home on Ivory's face than yours.

"He left the moment we got onto the dance-floor," you tell her, placing both hands on her hips as you finally find a spot that both of you can comfortably dance in. Blue eyes, smoldering meet hers. She's the one who looks away. You smirk.

"Now are you gonna talk?" You _purr_ , words flowing from your tongue with the greatest of ease. "Or are you gonna _dance?_ "

She seems to have regained some of her fire at that, you note, looking defiant and willing to try to put you in your place. She takes your hands and places them scandalously low on her hips, almost touching her plump behind. She looks at your face, looking for any sign of embarrassment, or meekness. She won't find any; your concentration is iron-clad.

"Alright, hotshot." There's heat in her voice this time, a challenging tone that sets the blood in your veins aflame in a way that's both unfamiliar and completely exhilarating. "Let's see if you're as good as you seem to think you are."

 **[Play Panic! At The Disco: Casual Affair]**

A brief silence. A new song starts, you nod your head to the beat, shuffling your feet as you push your chest against hers, feeling but ignoring the swell of her breasts pushing against you. Ivory squeak, _squeaks;_ and this time you're sure that it isn't the lighting, that she's _blushing._ You're not the hunted this time, you're the hunter. And you won't let that go. Won't let her reclaim her equilibrium, you'll sweep her off her feet, leave her breathless. Helpless.

You aren't familiar with dancing like this, its more aggressive than you're used to - more grinding and sexual and primal than regular dancing. But you're a quick study with things like these, and good footwork is universal. You pay attention to your surroundings, how other people dance and push and sway to the music; and you mimic them.

You start off slow, bouncing on the balls of your feet. Ivory's hands are on your shoulders. There's electricity in the air, zapping at the both of you and filling you with an energy that begs for you to keep moving. Eventually, you speed up as you gain confidence, as the stumbling becomes nonexistent, as you truly start to master this new and exciting form of dance. You ramp it up, pulling off more and more complex moves.

You don't do anything too scandalous with Ivory of course, instead you leave lingering touches and promises of something even greater. She doesn't expose much flesh - dressed in a suit and pants as she is - but a confident smirk and a steadfastly locked gaze can do much more than a careless grope, if done right. You can see it in her eyes, she wants more.

You sway to the music, dragging Ivory in your very own whirlwind of motion that she barely keeps up with. People stop and stare at both of you, but you don't pay any attention to them, keeping your eyes on Ivory and Ivory only. You bring her close to you in a move that has people gasping, twirling her around with dexterous hands and motions perfected and now refitted to better suit the situation. She lands gently against your chest, and she doesn't actually realize it until she comes into contact with your chest. Her eyes widen, and you feel her heart hammering, beating into sync with your own.

You smell mint on her breath - she's so close. Everything but this place, this single moment in time ceases to exist. You forget yourself in that moment. Forget everything but _her_.

It's hot. Too hot. Your throat is dry. Too dry. You're holding Ivory in your arms, watching her lips glisten, feeling her heart beat against yours. The world is still, as if its holding its breath, to see what you're going to do. You smell mint. And you come to a decision. Even if its one you don't want to make, its for the best - you _know_ its for the best.

The stars have aligned in your favor to give this one opportunity. A cute, no, _beautiful_ woman against your chest, looking meekly up at you. Even the crowd around you seems silent, even the music does not register in your hazy mind. Its almost picturesque - in a way. Passion found in a place like this, your sisters would be swooning at the concept. Lots of guys would kill to be in your shoes, would already have kissed her at this point. She looks into you, and you're _definitely_ into her. So what's the problem with kissing her?

You want nothing more than to take those cherry-sprinkled lips in yours, with a kiss that would sear itself into both of your hearts in an explosion of passion that would leave both of you _reeling_.

But explosions never last for long.

Lets say you kiss her, then what? Maybe it'll move on from there, with clothes being flung around, and you'd have some fun, maybe even have sex. But then what? Is that really enough, does that satisfy you? Just a one-night stand?

No, you realize, it doesn't.

Maybe its childish, and needlessly romantic. Maybe some people would even call it idiotic. But if you're gonna do something like that with someone, kiss someone, or well, fuck someone or anything like that - you want it to mean something. You want to do those things with someone you really understand and _love_ ,

And can you really say you feel those things about Ivory? You haven't even know her for a day!

So you very pointedly _don't_ kiss Ivory, no matter what your stupid hormones tell you to do. Instead, you spin her back around, away from you - close, but not too close. You catch a storm brewing in her eyes, relief and disappointment and confusion and a thousand other things so tangled up that you can't even begin to make sense of it, so you don't. You just keep dancing, bobbing your head to the music, shuffling your feet to the beat.

You have fun, dancing the night away, watching Ivory smile and enjoy herself. Your shoulders are light, and you feel free for the first time in a long time. You feel like you've made the right decision. About coming to Vale. Not kissing Ivory. Everything...

But you don't have an infinite well of stamina, and you eventually tire. Ivory looks fresh compared to you, nothing but a light sheen of sweat on her face, even though she's wearing a suit in this sweltering heat.

"I," You pant, dragging your feet behind you. "I think I'm done for the night."

Ivory looks genuinely disappointed at that, then she catches herself, and looks away, cheeks rosy. She mumbles something under her breath. You can't hear it over the music.

"What was that?"

She looks grumpy at that, cheeks puffing up like a chipmunk. And you can't help but laugh.

"I said. Just one more song, please? My favorite song's coming up." She looks so earnest about it...you almost say yes on the spot.

"Alright." You nod, trying to ignore the stitch in your side. "I could stay for one more song. If it's for you."

She smiles, looking truly radiant. You move to place your hands on her hips again, but she shakes her head, moving to embrace you instead - leaving you sort of awkwardly standing there, unsure of what to do and where to put your hands.

"It's slower than what you'd expect from a club," she explains, lips painfully close to your ear. "Just put your arms around me." There's a hitch in her voice when she says that.

"Okay." You agree, after a second of hesitation, wrapping your arms around her and waiting for Ivory's song to start.

 **[Play Halsey: Gasoline]**

It starts off slow, and like Ivory said, it's not what you'd expect to find in a club. A somber, almost depressing choice that honestly leaves you a bit baffled. _This_ is Ivory's favorite song? You mean, it's not a bad song - in fact, it's quite good - but you'd never expect it from the cheerful woman. Does this say something about her?

You shake your head a second later. Come on, Jaune, you say to yourself. You hardly even know her. But you can't ignore the melancholic tug at your heartstrings. Can't take away the feeling that there's something _wrong_. You wish that she wasn't resting her chin on your shoulder, then you'd be able to see her face.

Ivory pushes you gently, and you belatedly realize that you're supposed to be dancing.

"Sorry about that," you tell her. "It's just...I didn't expect the song."

Ivory shakes in your shoulders, laughing. And its as painful as it is real.

"What'd you expect?" She asks you, almost mumbling.

"I dunno. Something a bit more...peppy."

Ivory leans away from her position on your shoulders. Green eyes stare at cobalt. Your feet moves, the slower pace doing wonders to help you regain your stamina, but you barely even register it. Ivory has a small, honest smile on her face. And you have to remind yourself of your convictions, lest you do something you'll regret.

"I like peppy songs, sure. But well, this kind of music resonates with me more, y'know?"

"Hey. I'm not dissing your taste in music, it's a kick-ass song - it's just a bit surprising is all. But surprising isn't bad."

You give her your best, most sincere smile. "And I'd like to learn more about you, see if you've got any more surprises for me."

She blushes, smile widening, and then she frowns. You start to worry that you've said something wrong when she looks down.

"You should really stop that." You barely catch her whisper.

"Stop what?"

"It's not good for me if you keep being all genuine and stuff. I just can't take it."

The song ends at that. And you're not quite sure what to say - whether to apologize, or ask for clarification or what. And just when you're about to open your mouth and say something, you hear it.

Loud - that's the first word that comes to mind. A harsh, intimidating sound that's almost as recognizable as it is alarming. A gunshot; and then after that, a dull sound, like something hitting the floor. Instinctively, you - and you're damn sure nearly everybody else in the building - look to where you think the noise originated from.

Red - the same shade as his tie, the same shade that most of the club is bathing in - it's hard to see, in this lighting, a thick, almost viscous looking thing that your brain completely glosses over for a second, out of sheer disbelief. Someone screams, either a man or a woman, you're not sure, as you finally identify what exactly it is you're seeing: blood.

Two bouncers lie dead on the ground, guns clasped in tightened fists, suits dyed an even darker shade of crimson from the multiple gunshot wounds dotting from their torsos to their necks. They've fallen in front of the lobby door - they must've ran from the main entrance. Which means...

...that their killers aren't going to be far behind.

Ivory shouts something over all of the panic. You hear someone retching in the background. People are screaming. The bodyguards are trying to keep order, but its fucking pandemonium in here. Eventually all of the noise drowns itself out in your ears, forming into one single bleeping noise that drones on and on. Is this even _real?_ It doesn't feel real.

You're breathing hard, you're feeling faint. Exhaustion from the dancing combines with the panic, and makes your heart practically _smash_ itself against your rib-cage - that's how hard it's beating.

You know, in some distant corner of your mind, that panicking is not going to help in this situation. But...

 _You just can't stop staring at the bodies. WhatifthathappenstoyoutoIvoryto-!_

"Jaune!" Your cheek stings. Your mind rattles in your skill. You feel slender fingers forcefully turning your chin towards a direction that isn't facing the bodies, but instead - green eyes. Ivory is a rock in a storm, features set into a stoic countenance that miraculously calms you.

"Are you with me?" She asks, very calmly and gently, eyes softening. You nod mutely, still rattled beyond belief, but now cognizant. She nods in satisfaction, even offering you a tight smile as Junior - wielding what seems to be rocket launcher - hollers at the panicking crowd, leading them into some sort of backroom.

Ivory bites her lips for a second, and then seems to come to a decision. Reaching into her pocket, and pulling out...

"A gun?!" You hiss. "Ivory, what-!"

Before you can finish, Ivory puts a gun in your hands, reaching somewhere else in her suit and pulling out another, identical gun. White, to your black.

"Listen," she starts, looking into your eyes and practically _pleading_ for you to cooperate with her. "I don't have a lot of time. I need you to go with Junior and the others, he'll protect you. And if he somehow can't." She gestures the gun held in your quivering hands. "Then that will."

She then gives you a smile, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I'll entrust it to you."

"It's..." She screws her eyes shut. "Very important to me. So you better be alive to give it back."

"I don't even know how to use a gun!" You protest.

Her smile turns sardonic. "Then you better learn quick."

Then Ivory turns around, walking near the entrance, where her fellow employees - wielding guns and hatchets - and the twins you saw earlier are employing the tables as makeshift shield. You even spot the bear-head DJ, caressing what seems to be a tommy gun while he takes cover behind the booth. You realize that they're acting as the first and last line of defense, to protect the others huddled in the back-room.

"Wait, where are you going!?" You call out to Ivory's back. She doesn't answer.

You glance back, at where Junior is still corralling the panicked guests into the room. And then you look forward to where Ivory is barking out orders like a seasoned commander, placing men in certain position while keeping an eye on the entrance. She looks tense, fingers tightening on the white grip of her handgun.

* * *

 **AN**

 **As this was a Quest on Questionable Questing (holy alliterations, Batman), it's written is second person. I** _could_ **spend time changing it to either first or third person, but eh, I think this works fine enough. You can participate in the Quest on the aforementioned website, it's under the name 'Nobody Quest' penned under the same username I have here. Hop on, and decide the course of the story, if you fancy it. You've gotta make an account though, as its under the NSFW section.**

 **Oh, and speaking of NSFW - yes, there will be lemons. I'm not saying that It's gonna turn into a gigantic fuck-fest, but there will be sex. Better hop off if you're not into that.**


	2. Fire

_Fools rush in where angels fear to tread_

* * *

Your name is Jaune Arc, and you are a nobody.

The world has moved on, time and time again - oft leaving you in the dust, leaving you with your hands outstretched in a disregarded plea. You've lived with failure after failure, attempt after attempt to break your mediocrity, to become something more than the sum of your parts. And you've failed so many times that you believe victory to be nothing more than a fantastical dream of a child too precocious to grow up.

 _Just give up,_ whispers that insidious enemy, the anathema of all that you've - and still privately do - strive for. _You won't make a difference anyway. You'll just get someone killed._

Your hands quiver as you hold onto the matte black grip of the gun, twitching as you caress the beautiful embroidery carved into the instrument of death in a vain attempt to calm your beating heart. Your legs are shaking; and adrenaline pumps through your veins in a surge of panic and anger and too many things to count. Breathing is a challenge. You glance behind you, to where Junior has now directed most of the guests to the backroom, and is now dealing with the few still remaining - the delirious ones, the panicking ones.

And then you look in front of you - to Ivory, to the twins, to the bouncers. And you twitch, fingers tightening on the grip of that deceptively elegant-looking weapon.

 _Listen to her._

You shake your head, taking a step forward. Your gut falls, and you almost feel like puking your guts out. Gritting your feet, you take a step forward. And another. Another. Another. Until eventually you're naught but a few meters from the club's defenders. You won't be the bystander - the princess that has to be saved. You refuse to.

 _Turn around._

Maybe - no it's certainly foolish. But you were always kind of a fool, yourself. Resolve fills you, for the first time in a long while. It feels good, eases that sick feeling in your stomach. Tells you that you can do anything.

The air is thick with tension, with heat, with that horrifying question. _'Will you live to see another day?'._ And with the terrifying uncertainty of the answer. Ivory glances back as she hears your steps, eyes widening as she looks at you - you probably looks horrible, sweaty, and the exact opposite of bad-ass.

"Jaune?" She asks, stopping mid-sentence while she was talking to one of the twins. "What are you-!?"

She can't finish; because the world turns sideways. Momentum and hysteria. No time to stop. For anyone. Anything.

It happens in slow motion for you - a shout of. "Incoming!" And then a sickening squelching sound as a man near the lounge entrance gets disemboweled, and then decapitated, sun-glass-wearing head flying through the air and landing near your feet. Bile rushes up your throat as the thick, sickening stench registers.

 **[Play Thousand Foot Krutch: Courtesy Call]**

Covered in viscera, from head to toe - the hulking giant of a man carries a wicked, serrated monster of a blade in one hand, and a machine-gun in the other. Armour, Atlesian in design, but painted a dread black acts as his protection. His helmet protects all but his mouth, and you can see that he's grinning, clearly satisfied with his kill.

Everybody starts shooting - machine guns, shotguns, pistols - but he's fast. Almost ludicrously so. And the sinking realization of what he is slams into you, and judging by the stamping of feet behind him. He's not alone.

 _Run._

He weaves though bullets, hauling his blade and even batting some away, using it as a sort of makeshift shield. The few that get though his guard are immediately caught by his Aura, not even prompting a grunt. People, less armored, but still clad in protection of Atlesian make, start streaming into the room, shooting and taking a few of you down right off the bat. A bullet goes your way, but Ivory drags you out of the way and roughly shoves you behind an upturned table.

"STAY. HERE." She practically commands, before she turns back, yelling for the twins as she moves in to engage...

The Huntsman. Oh no.

Your jaw is quivering. You feel faint, as the violence. The blood. The death. It all threatens to overwhelm you. You see a bouncer take a bullet to the lung, gurgling as he drowns in his own blood. See one of the twins - The white-dressed one - kick someone in the throat, bladed heels ripping his larynx out in a spray of crimson. She sprints off, to join Ivory and her twin as they make a beeline straight to the Huntsman, who's just standing there, looking at all the carnage, occasionally laughing. You get the feeling that he's enjoying all of this, as much as the thought sickens you.

A bullet impacts against the table, but the sturdy thing holds up. You're still spooked however. Time seems to pass by in slow motion, as everything seems to come to focus in a sudden bout of clarity. You're fearing for your life - and how could you not? You're not prepared for any of _this._ This... _carnage_ This... _slaughter_.

And yet something possesses you to peek out from behind the table, your grip on the gun tightening so much that you're pretty sure you can hear bones pop. The defenders are at a relative stalemate with the attackers, as the superior numbers of the attackers pin down the forces of the club, while the bouncers are well protected in their hastily-constructed fortifications. The attackers can't put their sights on the three ladies heading for the Huntsman; because they're too busy fending off the occasional potshot from the club; but they're gonna need to reload eventually. And when they do...

The gun feels heavy in your hands.

There are dozens of them, more well-equipped, and well-armored than the club's defenders. But they're wide in the open, with nothing to defend them, while the club has taken cover. They're dying, slowly but surely. One here. Another there. But there's so _many_ of them that it hardly seems to matter. It looks like a doomed situation, not even including the Huntsman.

Despite your earlier resolve, despair threatens to eat you up, and swallow you. What can you even _do_ in this situation. But you set your lips into a grim line, holding onto your wavering calm for dear life.

Alright - you have a gun. You don't know how to use it, but you know enough about guns, from the games and the movies, to manage. You hope.

You flick off what you _think_ is the safety, and aim. A person who's already been shot in the leg. You calm your breathing.

And you shoot.

No good, shot went wide, and the guy goes scrabbling, ducking and weaving as the fire-fight rages. You see, as you quickly duck back behind your table, that Ivory and the twins have engaged the Huntsman. The twins work in tandem, keeping the brute off of Ivory's back as she fires accurate shot after accurate shot through the gaps in his guard. Despite that, however, it looks like the Huntsman has the advantage - more force of nature than man, as he bashes one of the twins in the side with pommel of his sword, and then kicks her away, leaving the girl's white-dressed twin to duel with the man for the moment.

You try to analyze how Ivory shoots, how she holds her gun, how she stands. In the clarity provided to you by the harrowing situation, you seek to emulate her.

Peeking out once more, you set your sights on another attacker, who's managed to take out a bouncer who left the protection of his table in an attempt to get a better vantage point. You breathe, and put every ounce of concentration into this one shot, this one moment.

Your index finger pushes the trigger, the gun pushes back - almost like a playful shove; and you catch him in his side, not quite his chest. He steps back, stumbling, and one of the bouncers take the opportunity to shoot him in the head. An explosion of viscera. And the man topples down. Dead.

You just helped kill a man. You feel sick to your stomach.

You don't have any time to lament, however, as your move prompted a bout of retaliatory fire to rain down upon you. You hide behind the table, wincing as you hear bullet after bullet impact against your only form of protection. The table can't take much more of it, and when it falls apart...

You don't have much time to think on it, however - because of the explosion. A great force that nearly knocks you flat on your ass, you feel it resonating in your bones, and for a second, you fear that the attackers have some sort of explosive weapon that they intend to use to force all of you out of hiding.

But luckily, that isn't the case.

Peeking out of your table once more, gun at the ready, you see that flamboyantly dressed man that was talking with Junior earlier, cane swinging and bludgeoning the unfortunate fools that had the bad luck to find themselves in his range of attack. He cracks skulls with impunity, breaking the enemy force and preventing them from pinning the defenders down in their confusion. Bullets are deflected and dodged in stunning feats of acrobat ability. There's a giant scorch mark on the ground, along with the scattered limbs of a few attackers. He must have caused it.

His appearance rallies the force, prompting them to lean from their cover and just start firing, taking out droves, where before they had only gotten the occasional kill. You push down your nausea and disgust, and start to fire from behind your cover, dodging the occasional retaliatory attack. Your shots are not accurate enough to kill, but enough to disable.

Eventually, Junior, expression livid and meaty fingers wrapped around the handle of his rocket-launcher enters the battle. He's bloodied and bruised, even though he hasn't been fighting in the club proper. Did some of the attackers manage to slip through, somehow? Whatever the case, he looks pissed.

Shouting an outraged battle-cry, he takes aim at an area containing several of the attackers. Limbs fly as the rocket hits home, but you ignore it - pushing down your emotions, you're sure that its gonna bite you in the ass after this is all over. But you're concerned with just staying alive.

By now, the defenders have killed over half of the attackers, with a significant (but tiny compared to the enemy) number of casualties. Some of the enemies are starting to retreat, but are cut down by either Junior's explosions, the flamboyant man's cane, or gunfire from the bouncers. You glance over at where Ivory and the twins are fighting, and it does not look good.

The white-dressed twin is out of the fight, bleeding - staining her dress a crimson red - as her sister stands over her, bladed weapons desperately blocking the swings of her opponent's sword. Luckily, his machine-gun lies, broken some ways away. But the Huntsman remains a formidable opponent. Skilled. Ferocious. She's losing ground, and it's not a question of whether she'll lose. But _when_.

Ivory looks desperate, even as she sends shot after shot with her gun. The Huntsman takes it, maybe missing a step here and there, and losing a chunk of his Aura. But it's not _enough_. His armor protects him, dented and scratched and rent, but still functional.

Your mind races. They're going to lose at this rate - going to _die._ And everybody else is too preoccupied with the rest of the attackers to pay much attention to the Huntsman. Its gonna have to be you. _You_.

Breathe, Jaune, you tell yourself, eyes sharpening even as your heart thunders, even as the world rages _war_ around you. You're going to have to _run_ from the table, abandoning your cover, to them, all the way to the other side of the room. You might get shot, even as scattered as the enemy is. One of the defenders might even mistake you for an enemy (you don't exactly share their attire). And you don't even _know_ how you're going to help once you get there, but that's something to think about if you actually get there.

You get up, steeling yourself and trying not to think of failure, and you break out into a dead sprint. Bullets whiz past you, and one even catches you in the shoulder, but you don't stop. You scream and - as pathetic it is - you cry, but you just keep going.

It's nothing like the heroic charges from the stories your father used to tell you about your grandfather and your great-grandfather. It's more desperate than that, an almost suicidal action.

The red-dressed twin finally slips up, and the Huntsman's wicked serrated blade catches her in the stomach, finally penetrating her Aura. An ethereal, crimson - and you really are starting to hate the color, with how frequently it seems to pop up - energy covers her, as she screams, toppling to the floor from the force of the blow. She's dazed. The deranged Huntsman chuckles, lifting his wicked blade to go for the killing blow.

But you don't let him.

You're tall, and while some would describe you as skinny - one did not aspire to be a Huntsman without putting on some muscle. You slam into him in a clumsy tackle, and as huge as he is, he's also completely unprepared for you. So, he topples to the floor, grip on his weapon slackened from surprise. You thank your lucky stars that you didn't impale yourself on it somehow, and attempt to wrench the weapon from his grasp.

But any shock on his part soon vanishes into cold discipline. He snarls at you, quickly adjusting his position so not that much of your weight presses on him, He punches you in the face as his grasp on his weapon tightens, breaking your nose in a splatter of crimson. It's painful. Tears, snot; and blood drip down your face. You can barely even _think_. But you keep him pinned down, he can't swing with much force below you, and you know that if you get off him, it's going to be all over. He'll kill you. Ivory. Everyone. And you just can't let that happen.

He's stronger than you, more ruthless too, he bites and he claws and while he can't use his weapon's blade effectively in his position, he _can_ bash the pommel and the hilt against your body. You weather the storm, though - pained scream coming from your lips as he _brutalizes_ you; but you ignore the grievous harm being inflicted on your body, using your leverage to thwart any of his attempts at getting up, much to his evident rage - if his roar is anything to go by. His off-hand wraps around your throat.

You gurgle as he _squeezes,_ scrambling to get him off of you, he tries to get up, and you know that you're too weak to stop him this time - with his hand wrapped around your throat.

Your fingers clench around the black grip of Ivory's gun. You shove the firearm in the Huntsman's face, where his helmet doesn't cover, forcing it past his mouth. You meet resistance in the form of his teeth, and the hand around your throat tightens, making you see black dancing around the corners of your vision. He bashes his sword against you, almost certainly breaking bones with the force of his blows. He seems well and truly desperate, for the first time. He knows what you're about to do, and he's trying his best to stop you.

His best just isn't good enough.

You crush down any residual hesitance, and you pull the trigger. Shooting all of your remaining ammo into his mouth, shattering teeth, filling the back of his mouth with lead as his Aura sputters out in a flash of murky blue. He gurgles beneath you, movements weakening.

You wrench his hand from your throat, taking a painful, much needed breath of air. Everything hurts, like it's on fire, and you're sobbing from the pain as much as the relief.

"Jaune!" You hear from Ivory, who's started running towards you as soon as the very brief - seconds that seemed to stretch on into hours - but very brutal altercation with the Huntsman. Her eyes are wide, and she's gesturing at you to-!

The hand is back around your throat, squeezing with an even greater force than before. The Huntsman is alive, and he is livid. He shoves you off of him, getting up even as he drags you from the ground by your throat. Your legs kick ineffectually at him, but he just snarls, hoisting his blade up and-!

Ivory screams as the blade sinks into your gut, serrated edges tearing apart flesh with a sound like meat being butchered. Blood runs down the blade in rivulets. The pain doesn't register at-least, at first, and so you're stuck staring at the Huntsman's helmeted face. He smiles, showing you that all of his teeth in the front are shattered, and the back of his mouth is littered with holes from when you shot him.

"Howsh it feel, bitsch?" He slurs at you, as you stare at the gruesome sight, as the feeling of _wrongness_ perpetuates in your gut, slowly evolving into pin-pricks of mind-numbing pain.

"Trassh shlike shyou," he says. "Are bessher shoff _dead_." And then he yanks the sword out of your guts, a second before he's cut down by the vengeful red-dressed twin, clawed gauntlets going for his comparatively less armored throat, tearing his head straight from his body with a powerful slash. His blood paints you, as you topple to floor, free from his grip. The fall aggravates your already severe injuries as you give a weakened cry.

 **[Play Erik Satie: Gymnopédie No.1]**

It's quiet, you realize, eyes drifting shut. That must mean that the fighting's over.

You're glad.

"Jaune!

Man, you're beat. You'd like nothing less than to sleep for a long, long time...

"Jaune, please!"

You feel someone push their hands against your stomach, where the blade sunk in. You can't even muster the scream at the agonizing pain you're in. It's like everything near your stomach region is burning. Like your organs are sizzling.

You wonder how Mom and Dad are doing back home. Your sisters, too. They're all strong people, much stronger than you, certainly; but one of the duties of being a son and a brother is to constantly worry about them.

Something splashes down your face, wet. You crack open your eyes, that single motion somehow managing to drain you like nothing else. White and green, more like splotches of paint than an actual picture...

"You're gonna be all right." There's something wrong with her smile.

"O-okay?" You ask.

"No, Jaune. You're not okay."

"N-no...me...y-you?"

Ivory looks dumbfounded at that, but she nods anyway.

"Yes. I'm fine, thanks to you. You saved my sister, too. I'm very thankful. You're a hero, Jaune."

You feel warm.

You glance down, hoping that she'll catch what you're trying to tell her. She does, following your gaze to your hands, where you're still clutching the obsidian handle of the gun with a weak-fingered grip. More tears fall at the sight of it, and one of her hands covers her mouth as she suppresses a sob. You nod very slowly, as she takes the gun.

"Jaune..." She looks like she's barely keeping it together. You want to brush her tears away, but your arms won't move. So you settle for smiling at her instead.

"N-no...cry...b-beautiful...smile..."

She just cries harder at that. The movies and the books never really mention how ugly grief is. She's still radiant, though.

"We're gonna help you, Jaune. Y-you're-," a sob interrupts her. "Militia's going to find help! You're gonna live!"

"G-good..." You say, eyes drifting shut once more, unable to keep them open anymore. "T-that's...good..."

"Jaune!"

Darkness - comforting, like a blanket in a cold night to ward off the chill.

* * *

 _"This kid looks like he's been through the grinder. I'm impressed."_

 _"Roman!"_

 _"What?"_

 _"Fuckin' hell. Can you fix him."_

 _"Nope."_

 _"Roman!"_

 _"Geez. What happened to your sense of humor, Junior?"_

 _"Died the second these cocksuckers decided it would be a good idea to come in to MY club and start killing MY people. Now can you fix him, or not? I owe him a debt, if something like that matters to you."_

 _"Alright, alright. I can fix him, but you won't like it."_

 _"Try me."_

 _"I can unlock his Aura."_

 _"...fuck."_

 _"Fuck, indeed. Still want me to do it?"_

 _"...yes."_

 _"Alright._

 _For it is in audacity that we achieve purpose. Through this, we become an outlaw borne out of our own excess and selfish desires to defy all. Infinite in spite and unbound by law, I draw out your potential, and by my whim, set thee free."_

 _Light piercing the darkness - a warmth in a cold wasteland. Defiance, clothed in spite and purpose, comes swaggering in, chasing away the shadows; reaching out to the light, and drawing it out of its prison. Letting IT be the one to chase the darkness away, helping it stand up on its own two feet. And once its job is done, it walks away, diminished for the moment._

 _"That's bright."_

 _"..."_

 _"Roman?"_

 _"This kid...there's something about him."_

 _"He DOES seem to have a lot of Aura."_

 _"Not that."_

 _"Then what?"_

 _"I wasn't alone in there, Junior. Felt like there was someone else...something else in there with me."_


	3. Ashes (Ivory Interlude)

Ivory tries, she really does, but every-time she stops she can't help but grit her teeth. Her mind flashing back to that sight, that image. Of a body, broken and bloody, his life spreading out across the floor like a crimson pool. And the fact that he was only in that state because she had been bored, latching onto the first interesting thing she'd seen all day. Blue eyes, and blonde hair, and that stupid smile on his face.

He'd looked so much like a lost and clueless puppy, she hadn't been able to keep away. Seeing an opportunity to maybe have a bit of fun.

Only for it all to backfire. Like glass, shattering in her hands, leaving nothing but gashes, and blood and stinging pain.

So she doesn't stop. She directs her anger, and guilt, and _stress_ into her work. Directing what's left of Junior's men, giving them orders in a practiced, smooth tone of voice. No hitch, to show what she's really feeling inside. They follow her orders, of course they do. She's second in command - Junior's right hand. Always have been, ever since...

She closes her eyes, stopping mid-sentence while she was talking to one of Junior's men, and tries to forget. Another tragedy, almost two decades in the past, this time. Two bodies, brutalized, with their hands still clasped tightly together.

"Ma'am?" The henchman she was talking to prompts.

Her eyes snap open, and that familiar cold persona returns. _Idiot_ , she hisses to herself. _Just keep moving forward. Think about the future, not the past. There's still so much to be done._

And there is. The police will be here soon. The guests. They'd need more men too, they'd lost a lot in this attack - but not as much as the attackers themselves, she thinks, with a level of vindictive satisfaction. The prisoners too, which Junior's taking care of, _personally_.

She can feel a migraine coming along - building up behind her eyeballs, a familiar ache. A good ache. An ache that's proof that she's giving it her all, and then some. She finishes giving her orders to the goon, and then dismisses him.

She spots a flash of white in the corner of her vision.

"Melanie!" she exclaims, rushing to the girl and giving her a tight hug. Melanie huffs, faking an attempt to escape from the older woman's grasp, but there's a smile on her face. She looks relatively fine, except for the slight bruise on her brow, from where that rogue Huntsman - who they're still trying to identify - caught her with the flat of his blade.

"Aw," Melanie pouts as Ivory ruffles her hair. "Come on, sis, you're messing up my hair."

Ivory laughs, _laughs_ in sheer relief, lightened at the fact that one of the girls she considered to be a sister to her is alright. There's still the tiredness, that bone-deep exhaustion that seems to follow her everywhere she goes. But it seems easier to ignore, at-least for the moment.

"I was worried about you, you know?" Ivory whispers, holding the girl close. Melanie looks embarrassed at that, looking away, but there's no denying that she looks happy. She's always been like that, even when Ivory first met her and her twin - two kids barely off the streets, newly orphaned from Mountain Glenn. Nowhere to go. With no options, except to turn to a life of crime.

"'M fine, sis." She smiles, as they break their hug after a lingering moment of shared affection. "And I'm glad that you are, too."

Melanie frowns, then. "Where's Militia, though? I've been looking for her, but I can't find her anywhere."

The smile vanishes from Ivory's face, expression turning downcast. Melanie's eyes widen, growing dismayed.

"No...did something happen to Militia?"

Ivory starts. "No! No, nothing like that." She hesitates, biting her lip. "It's just...she's gone to Dr. Layton to help treat Jaune."

"Jaune?" Melanie asks, confused. "You mean that guy you were flirting with, earlier?"

Ivory's expression grows strained, her lips twisting into a pained grimace. Something in her chest tightened, and she had to breathe in, remind herself that he wasn't dead. That the idiotically stupid and genuine and oh so innocent naive boy she'd brought into danger was being tended to as they spoke. "He...he helped take down that rogue Huntsman, distracted and damaged him enough that Militia could finish him off. He's...hurt bad, like, real bad. So Roman had to unlock his Aura. But even that wasn't enough."

Like she wasn't enough...wasn't strong enough to protect him, wasn't commanding enough for him to listen to when she told him to go hide.

"So Militia had to go send him to the good doctor." Melanie hums in thought. "Might have to thank him, myself."

Ivory can't quite help the deepening of her grimace and the roll of her eyes at Melanie's words. She lets out a small grunt, because there's no way she'd be letting Melanie near him any time soon. Call it regret, or a feeling of being responsible, but she felt as if she owed Jaune, for what had happened. And it was so clear that he was naive and eager, and it'd be for the best if she didn't let Melanie play around with the boy's heart.

She'd already caused him enough pain, for now. She could spare him that, at least.

"Anyway." She shakes her head, clasping Melanie on the shoulder in a gesture of sisterhood. "Take it easy for a while, that bastard really got you with that hit."

When Melanie makes to protest, Ivory gives her a _look_ , to which the younger girl wisely shuts up. Nodding to herself, Ivory flashes Melanie one last tired smile, and turns on her heel.

There's much work to be done. And when Jaune wakes up...

She'll make sure to give him hell to pay for disobeying her orders. That, and for making her worry so much over him!

And maybe, she'll even give him a hug too. If he's lucky.


	4. Chapter 4

You stir, mind dislodging itself from muck as you place your hands to the soft, cushy - bed? - surface behind you, There's an itch there, an uncomfortable sensation - on both your shoulder and your stomach. You grumble as you haul yourself in a seating position on the side of the bed, feet on the cold tiled floor. You shiver, but welcome it - it will wake you up faster. Somehow, you feel very different.

You glance around, confused as to your whereabouts. It's not a hospital, that's for sure - which is surprising, considering the state you were in after-!

Your eyes widen, memories crashing against you in a violent wave of bloodshed and fear; then follows the nausea. You're a murderer - well, not per se -, you hadn't pulled the trigger yourself, but there's no doubt that you're an accomplice. Some part of you, dark and vengeful, sneers at your revulsion - those people had gone into The Club; and they were probably going to slaughter innocents. But that does nothing to quell your guilt, you can't accept that answer; because you're a killer now. And nothing will change that fact. Sure, it was in self-defense. But still...

Those people probably have- HAD friends, families. You imagine them - ignorant as to what had just occurred to their loved one, and just waiting for them to come back home. They'll be waiting for a very long time. Because you've killed them.

You sit there, shivering as you stare at the palm of your hands - vacant eyes staring at the lines on them and seeing vivid imagery of screaming men and laughing maniacs, all killers, all dead. You feel bile coming up your throat, but you hold it in, heaving.

Eventually, you can't stand it anymore. The itching in your shoulder and stomach start to bother you - but the guilt is what ultimately causes you to stand up from your spot on the bed. You're unsteady on your feet, reminding you of the few times that you had gotten drunk; and your wounds _ache._ You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the pain. It's not just your shoulder and stomach, but your insides, as well. You had hear several very distressing cracks while you were holding the rogue Huntsman down, and you've hear tell that the spilled stomach acids are just as deadly as the blood loss when it comes to stomach wounds.

Your brow furrows at the thought of the rogue Huntsman - you didn't even know that such a thing was possible. The Huntsmen are supposed to be the bulwarks of humanity - the ones protecting them against the Grimm and criminals alike. They're supposed to be heroes! Like from the legends of old! But...

 _A rictus of a grin, crazed blood-shot eyes. A madman, one who didn't just kill, but brutalized. The furthest thing from a hero._

 _..._ clearly, not all Huntsmen are necessarily heroes. You screw your eyes shut, feeling betrayed. The first Huntsman that you meet other than your dad, and he's an insane murderer. Your faith and hero-worship towards Huntsmen has gone down, you must admit.

Shaking your head, you resolve to think more on such matters once you've gotten some fresh air - that, and some water. Stumbling over to the door, you throw it open, leaving the sparse room behind you for a wide, spacious hallway - ornate, with embroideries and expensive furniture that doesn't so much dazzle you as make your head hurt in your current state. You look around, brow furrowing as you consider which hallway to go down.

To the western hallway, you can hear several indistinct voices present in a conversation. Their volume is steadily rising, so either their conversation is getting heated, or they're heading closer to your location.

The eastern hallway is silent, but you can tell by the sunlight shining through, reflecting off of the ridiculously shiny marble surface of this luxurious building, that it probably leads to some sort of exit, or an open space. Both are fine with you.

Your feet move, almost without prompting. You follow the sunlight - desperately needing fresh air in your lungs, desperately wanting a breeze to comfort you. You're not yourself, not fully.

And so you go east, away from the voices - maybe they're here for you. Maybe they'll come looking for you, once they find out that you aren't in that room; but you find yourself feeling uncharacteristically callous. You need to find yourself, before anything else. You need to take the time to process... _everything_.

Your wounds ache, your throat is parched, and the cold, hard marble is unyielding against your bare-feet. You're clad in nothing but a hospital gown, navy blue, and barely covering your unmentionables. You care not for these discomforts, and your fingers twitch at your sides. Your head is bowed as you walk, and your teeth are gritted. Your breathes are slightly heavy as you walk.

The pitter-patter of your footfalls are the only thing you hear as you traverse this annoyingly large hallway, in this annoyingly large house. It's getting warmer though, cool marble floors gaining heat as you continue on, as you get closer to somewhere where you can pick up the pieces of your shattered thoughts.

By the time you reach the exit to this incredibly large house - a huge, decorated archway that serves as the mansion's door - your wounds are aching, and your feet are sore.

But you can feel it, a refreshing breeze drifting in from outside. Beams of scattered sunlight managing to shine through. You feel a deep longing, nestling within your chest, at that. You take a step forward, ignoring the aches and the pains and the stings and you-!

A hand on your arm, soft like velvet; unyielding like steel. You turn startled eyes to meet her own - pink and brown, then brown and pink -. You blink, positively stumped as to this girl's appearance. She blinks back, imitating you in a manner that you just _know_ is meant to mock you. She tilts her head at you, and then points to the door, as if in askance.

She's short, and wearing a stylish pink and white jacket that cuts off, barely covering her surprisingly large breasts, underneath that is a black sweater that leaves her luscious hips exposed. White boots, little less than knee-high, obscure parts of her plain, dark brown pants. The beads around her neck jingle, as her moderately-long brown and pink hair sways. She's beautiful, but you're not in the mood for this.

"Who're you?" The question is out of your mouth before you even think about it. She raises a single delicate eyebrow at your rude tone. You shake your head, sighing. You're still not fully _you._ You need to calm down.

"Sorry," you say after a little while. "Rough night. The name's Jaune Arc, nice to meet you. What's your name?"

The strange girl taps her chin, cheeks puffing up as she decides whether to forgive you or not. Shrugging, she takes out her scroll and types something on it with a speed that honestly baffles you. Then, she shoves the scroll in your face.

'Can't talk,' it reads. 'Name's Neopolitan. You can call me Neo, if you want. Where you going? And why are you going out looking like that?' She's referring to your state of dress, or lack thereof.

Neopolitan, as in the ice cream flavor? You look at her past her scroll, quirking a brow. You nod anyway, willing to answer.

"Heading out for some fresh air. Need to clear my head."

She looks thoughtful at that, as she retracts her scroll. You take that as her giving you her tacit approval, aiming to walk around her.

But she stops you once more, with that same surprisingly strong grip. You're starting to get annoyed now, but she shoves her scroll back in your face before you can express your displeasure. Rolling your eyes, you read the text on the screen.

'Kay,' it reads. 'Why don't we go out together? I was getting bored of being here, anyway. I could probably get some clothes for you, too. I doubt you wanna go out looking like _that_.'

You make to refuse; then you consider it. Sighing, you open your mouth and answer the girl - who's giving you a beseeching look that's almost _criminal_ in its sweetness.

"Fine," You run your fingers through your hair, sighing. Why _not_ bring her along? It's not like she's gonna chat you up while you're brooding, or anything. She looks pleased at your acceptance, jumping up and down like a child in a candy store - it does interesting thing to her, uh, chest. She quickly types something on her scroll; then tilts it so you can see what she's written.

'Cool!' And then a smiling emoticon. 'I'll go get you some clothes now!'

"Alright." You nod your acceptance. Then you look back to the hall you just came from. "So where are they...?"

Neo nods, smiling at you in a way that makes you uneasy. She grabs you suddenly, gloved fingers interlacing against yours.

"What are you-!"

The sound of glass shattering; and the world _twists_ , squashing into an infinitely small size, and spinning thousands of times in a single second. Bile rises up your throat. Your brain pounds against your skull. It feels like hours have passed before you reach your destination - and you are helpless to do nothing, face scrunched up in a silent scream as the torturous nausea slams into your being and turns you into a barely-functional wreck.

And then your bare feet are once again planted on a solid surface. You stumble, tripping and planting face first against the floor, vomit spewing from your mouth and getting caught by your gown. Tears stream for your eyes, as you retch. The world won't stop _spinning._

You spot heeled boots from the corner of your vision. You somehow manage to regain the mental faculties to follow them upwards - Neo, not looking befuddled at all as to your state, simply smiling as she walks closer to you - she's carrying a bundle of clothing in her hands. She nearly steps on your fingers as she kneels, setting down the clothing and patting your head in a patronizing manner.

"N-neo?" You ask, and she smiles, pointing at the bundle of clothing next to her. You're in a clothing store, you realize, after taking a second to pay attention to your surrounds. You're hidden behind several clothing racks, away from the line of sight of the employees and the other customers, and there's a changing stall not far from you.

You get up on shaking legs, retching from the smell of your own vomit. You turn to Neo, more questions than you can conceivably articulate, so you settle for the most pressing one.

"Did you...?"

She nods cheerily, smiling like she could do no wrong. She looks like she wouldn't hurt a fly - the perfect picture of a gentle girl. So why...why does it make you so uneasy?

"Why didn't you warn me, then?" You question her angrily. The world's still spinning a little, and there are so many questions swimming in your mind - it's all giving you a migraine. Was it too much to ask for just a little while to think? You're beginning to think that Vale is cursed, that or you just have the worst luck _ever_. This freaking girl just what, _teleported_ you? That's the only explanation, right? Unless it's all some sort of elaborate prank, but you get the feeling that's not the case.

She shrugs, as if she honestly never thought about it. You're about to retort, when she shoves something your mouth. It's soft and velvety, and it smells good. She has an innocent expression on her face as she does it, too. And you're starting to question if it's genuine.

You spit the thing out, glancing at it. You reel back, shocked; then you look at it again, sure that your eyes are tricking you. No luck.

She just shoved a pair of frilly black panties in your mouth.

"What the fuc-!"

She pouts, shoving another pair of panties, which she procured from...somewhere, in your mouth.

'No swearing,' she types on her scroll, and then shows you.

You're quickly reaching your boiling point with this girl. She's just so...argh! What the hell?! You're honestly just baffled. She's like one of your sisters, but a thousand times worse - and you didn't even think that was possible!

You spit out the panties, and angrily start. "Now listen here-!"

And then someone turns the corner to use one of the changing stalls. It's a woman - midden-aged by the look of it, and her face is contorted in shock as she looks at both of you. She drops the bundle of clothes she was carrying, and her mouth follows soon after.

All the color drains from your face - its easy to mistake whats happening. She can't see Neo's bust and face from here, so she looks much younger then she really is, almost child-like, really. You're barely wearing anything, and there's two panties on the floor.

"Pervert!" She shrieks, stumbling back as if she's afraid that you're going to molest her. You reel back, as if physically struck. "Pedophile!" She shrieks again, running out of sight. You hear startled yells and shrieks from the rest of the store, and a cacophony of footsteps heading towards your location.

"Neo!" You hiss, looking at her in a panicked way. The girl's shoulders are shaking, and you realize after some confusion, that she's silently laughing.

"She's crazy.." You whisper - the mentally unstable girl simply laughs some more at that, scooping up the clothes and somehow-manhandling you - despite her small size - into standing up. Hope blossoms in your chest - if she can teleport you into this store, she can probably teleport you out. But...

"Oh god, I'm gonna hate this." But you're sure that dealing with the nausea is better than being branded as a sexual deviant, so you'll pay the price.

"Alright," you breathe, chest going up and down in a semi-relaxed manner. "I'm read-!" She doesn't even let you finish before she begins to teleport, and the nausea strikes you, just like the first time.

But unlike the first time, you're prepared now. And your second time teleporting is much more pleasant than the first. You stumble as your feet hit solid ground, but you do not fall this time.

You're somewhere else - a small apartment, with an area that's probably supposed to be the kitchen shunted off to the side - the implements there look unused, so the resident probably rarely, if ever makes use of them. There's a door that looks like it leads to the bedroom, and another a little ways away that leads to the bathroom. Behind you is a door that likely leads to the exit.

Neo pushes you to the bathroom, waving her hands in front of her in the universal gesture of, 'You stink.' You glare daggers at her, but stumble over to the bathroom anyway. It's probably her apartment you're in, you assume. And while usually, being in a girl's apartment would fluster you like nothing else, you're much too ruffled for that at the moment.

You don't pay much attention to the bathroom, simply drawing some hot water and sitting on a present stool, waiting for the tub to be filled. You make sure to keep the door locked behind you; but you're unsure how much that'll help with a girl that has the ability to teleport. You divest yourself of your vomit splattered patient's gown, nose scrunching up in disgust at the stench. You let it hit the floor with a wet 'splat!'. You would normally be more considerate in another person's home, but Neo's bringing out the worst in you.

Once the tub's filled with steaming hot water, you gingerly place yourself in it, sighing in satisfaction as the hot water eases the tension in your muscles. You throw your head back, looking at the ceiling. You close your eyes, and relax-!

 _Red, red in the floor, in the ceiling. Red running down bullet-riddled bodies_

"Fuck," you whisper, an intake of air, your heart thundering in your chest. No matter how you try, you can't take your mind off of that night. "Fuck," you say again, softer. You close your eyes once more, dunking your head in the water. You grab some shampoo that's placed off to the side, in a stand, lathering some on your hair. You run your hands through your hair - your mother and your sisters would always run their hands through it, even made you promise to take care of it, when you left.

You feel a smile coming to your face, unbidden. Thinking of family always helps, you find.

You grab a bar of soap from the stand, depositing the shampoo bottle back to where you grabbed it from. You rub the soap around your body - mango-scented, apparently -. Once you're satisfied with your cleanliness, and made sure that the scent of vomit has finally vanished, you step out of the tub.

You glance around, looking for a towel. Your eyes drift over a tiny one, dismissing it as too small for you; but you can't find a bigger one. You freeze, that thing can barely fit around your hips, and it'll barely cover your unmentionables.

"Neo! Do you have anymore towels?!" You call out, no answer. Not like you were expecting anything, it was more an act of desperation than anything else. Sighing, you realize that this is your only options, and it's either the tiny towel, or going out naked. And while you're tempted to do that, just to see the look on her face. You're a bit hesitant to flash a girl you just met. You wipe off the water stuck to you with the towel, and then tie it around your waist, making sure that it won't fall down. Like you thought, it only reaches to your upper thighs, and it looks like its going to burst any second.

Face burning, you walk out. You try to look dignified, but Neo's shaking shoulders and pointing finger as she lounges on a couch is making it awfully hard.

You spot the clothes draped over the foot of the couch.

Something's missing, you realize.

"Where's the underwear?" You ask her, a sinking feeling in your gut,

She throws some panties at you. And you're starting to wonder if she possesses an ability to spontaneously create panties from nothing.

You snarl, tossing the panties away, and grabbing the clothes that Neo had gotten for you - sighing in relief once you see them. While they're more formal than you're used to, you're grateful that they aren't women's clothes like you were dreading. While your mother and sisters were always going on about how good you looked in them, you don't think you can take the crippling hit to your masculinity. Not again, and not in front of _Neo_ of all people.

Neo pouts at your action, kicking her feet at you indignantly. You snidely remark (in your head, of course. You don't want her to do more damage to your pride than she's already done in retaliation) that she's much too short for that to be a threat. You quickly hurry back to the bathroom, unwilling to be around Neo with so much of yourself exposed.

Your nose scrunches up as the scent of vomit from the ruined patient's gown, abandoned on the tiled floor, hits you with all the force of a truck. You don your clothes, taking very special care not to get 'little Jaune' get stuck in the zipper. You put your socks on, and then the dress shoes. You fumble with the buttons of your dress shirt, and you've ruffled the vest so much that it looks more like some sort of shawl than anything else. But as you look in the mirror, flashing yourself a wink and a charming - to you - smile, you can't help but think that you look pretty good, if you do say so yourself. Neo might be a little brat, but she has taste, at least.

You check if your zipper's all the way up - you don't anybody getting an unwanted glimpse of your unmentionables after all. Getting arrested for public indecency isn't really on your list of things to do. If only Neo had given you actual underwear to wear - well, technically she had, but panties?! It's slightly uncomfortable - wearing the trousers without any form of underwear. But you can make do.

Straightening your outfit and looking for any mistakes. You don't deign to comb your hair - your mother would have thrown a fit, but you like the look of your hair in its natural state.

You exit the bathroom, as spring in your step, a confidence that wasn't there before. You're not gonna stand Neo's bullying, you decide. You're gonna defend yourself! And if she has a problem with it, then too bad-!

Neo suddenly appears in front of you - a sound like shattering glass. Pink and cream-colored eyes, an outstretched hand. It's too late to dodge out of the way. Your body tenses, steeling yourself in preparation of the nausea of Neo's teleportation. But Neo does not do that, instead her gloved hands reach out for your collar, straightening it out with an annoyed huff.

'What are you?" She types, after she deems your collar suitable. 'Five? Can't you make your own collar. Do you _want_ to embarrass me?'

You stop yourself from replying. 'Yes', you feel like that would earn you nothing but pain. Instead deigning to shake your head, and shrugging your shoulders in apology.

"Sorry," you offer, and the insincerity is known even to you. "I'm not used to these kinds of clothes," you say, in an attempt to placate the volatile young lady. It seems to have done the opposite, making Neo look at you as if you were a particularly disgusting bug that had found itself in her food. It's a withering look, is all that you're saying.

'Whatever,' she types, rolling her eyes. 'Where we going, anyway?'

"What?" You ask her.

She gives you an expression that practically screams. 'Are you blind?', shoving her scroll in your face. You back away a little, wanting some personal space. Neo moves forward, matching you step for step.

"You're letting me decide?" You ask her, surprised. Neo doesn't seem like the type of person to give up the initiative - she seems like the domineering type, but then again...you hardly even know her. So she might have some nuances to her that you don't quite know yet? But that doesn't feel right, somehow. She looks at you, peculiar eyes glinting. You get the feeling that she's testing you.

Goddammit. You should have gone west. Then you wouldn't be dealing with this shit.

"Why don't we head over to a park?" You decide, after a few seconds of pondering. It seems like a mighty fine idea to you, a wide open space with few distractions - a place where you can think and come to grips to what you have done. Neo doesn't seem to share you sentiments however, judging by the twisting of her lips.

'A park?' She types with her characteristic speed. 'Why a park?' Though she is mute, you swear that you can hear her _whine_ petulantly.

You back away a little, clutching your chest. When not attempting to push your buttons, Neo is dangerously cute. You look away a little, as Neo stamps at the ground like a child who didn't get what they wanted.

"You can uh, just not come with me?" You suggest, Neo gives you the stink eye. She pouts as she considers your words, and for a second, you dare to hope that she will leave you alone, so you can finally sort out your feelings in peace. That hope is mercilessly brought back to heel as Neo shakes her head, still giving you that same look of adorable discontent.

'No.' She eventually types out, after a second of you standing uneasily by - you reckon she took so long to get to you just to make you squirm. She's sadistic enough for it. 'There'd be no point.'

Your brow quirks, as you consider what she writes.

"What do you-!?"

Neo's hand lashes out, catching your arm. The world _twists_ , and you find yourself screaming as your very being is forcibly pulled in an instand to a seemingly random direction. Squish. Pulling. Squeezing. The sensations _should_ feel painful; but they do not. That does not stop them from being supremely uncomfortable however.

Green - as far as the eye can see. You stumble a little bit, while Neo stands gracefully a few meters away from you - a respectable distance, in case you decide to react like you had first time you were teleported. Luckily, you had built up somewhat of a small resistance. And your pretty sure your stomach is empty, anyways.

"I hate it when you do that," you grimace, glaring at Neo - who waves at you cheekily, brandishing a parasol clipped to her belt, and unfurling it. She walks off, gesturing for you to follow her.

You contemplate defying, out of spite. A second later and you realize that you have no idea where Neo sent the both of you to, so you follow her grudgingly. You mutter under your breath as you follow the cheery girl, wincing at the unfamiliar feeling of 'little Jaune' brushing against your trousers. You try to content yourself with the fact that the alternative would have brought you an infinite amount of humiliation.

Like you said before - this place has greenery everywhere. Trees, shrubs. A breeze drifts, brushing along grass and making them sway hypnotically. You can't help but smile. It's very picturesque. Your sisters would have loved it here.

Your smile dims at that - would they judge you? No, surely not. They would understand, they really would. They would comfort you, whispering soft nothing as you cry on their shoulders. They're great like that.

Somehow, the thought depresses you.

Distracted as you are - you hit something small. You nearly stumble as you impact against Neo's back. She had stopped while you were thinking. She gives you a _look_ over her shoulder. You freeze in place, sweating bullets.

"Sorry." You will deny ever having squeaked, but your voice is pitifully high. "I was distracted."

Giving you one last lingering look over her shoulder, she strides forwards - to a nondescript wooden bench, sitting on it with a sigh. She taps the spot beside her, looking at you meaningfully.

After a moment's hesitation, you sit with her. Making sure to sit as far away from her as physically possible. Neo seems amused at that, chuckling silently as she types something on her scroll, showing it to you a second later.

'Well, we're here. What do you have in mind?'

You shrug your shoulders. "I was thinking of just sitting here - relaxing, you know? Think about some stuff."

'Boorrrringgggggg' She types. She does a lot of pouting, you realize. Pink and cream-colored eyes glare at you, as she inches closer and closer towards you. Subtly, but not too subtly. You have nowhere to go, and she's not so aggressive as to prompt you to stand. She stops, closer than you were hoping, but farther than you were dreading.

'Might as well talk about it. What do you have on your mind that's oh so important?'

"I've killed people!" You blurt out. Your face goes pale as you realize what you've just said. You were hardly even thinking - you're just sick of keeping it to yourself. You don't want it to fester any longer, brimming under the surface to inevitably boil over at the worst possible moment. You're fingers dig into your lap, teeth gritting. Stupid. Idiot. You shouldn't have said that.

You look away, unwilling to see the disgust on Neo's face, to see the fear as she realizes that she's talking to a killer. Your shoulders are shaking; and the silence that follows your proclamation is stifling. The air is thick - it gets in your throat, making speaking up a challenge.

"I didn't kill them myself," you croak out quietly, closing your eyes,. _Excuses_ , you might as well have. Even now, you deny it. But deep down, you know. "But I helped."

Neo is still silent, you don't know what you expected. For a second, you think that she teleported away. But you're too much of a coward to check, to look back at her.

"It wasn't a murder!" You insist, wanting to explain yourself - to either Neo or yourself, you don't know. "They were...I was in a club and they were going to _kill_ people. They had weapons. They were going to kill one of my friends...I had to stop them..." A real hero wouldn't have had to kill them...

Silence. You gulp, feeling weak and vulnerable - like you haven't grown up from that precocious little kid from so many years ago. You wait, in that absence of sound, unsure of what to even expect. Moments pass by like that, and just when you're about to stand up and run, you feel a dainty, gloved hand on your shoulder.

You jerk, like you've been burned. Gaze turning to Neo - who's...

 _Smiling._ It shakes you to your core - the expression is so _innocent_. So _pure_ , But her eyes are so _blank._ The contrast between the two is incomprehensible to you, and you're stuck between the warmth of being comforted, and the cold of being disturbed. Her fingers dance along your shoulder, eventually coming to your face, caressing your cheek. You shiver.

She doesn't say anything for a very long moment - and neither do you. The silence seems sacred, and it almost feels like a crime to break it. She retracts her hand, tilting her head as she looks at you with that same disturbingly blank gaze. You're entranced. Pink and cream. Cream and pink. Brown and pink. Pink and brown. Brown and cream. Cream and brown. Her eyes flicker, never staying the same color for long.

You can't look away.

A flicker of something too cold to be _warmth_ , but too warm to be _cold_ passes through those peculiar eyes. But you can't look into it any further; because her arms are around you before you even know it. You sit there, shocked - as this girl you barely even know hugs you. Hesitatingly, you hug back, feeling your shoulders start to shake even further. You close your eyes, hoping it'll keep the tears at bay.

A shuddering sigh escapes you, and you're just too tired to be embarrassed. The height difference between you two makes it so that Neo's face is against your chest - but it is _you_ that feels like the child. You stay like that, for what seems like an eternity. And you're disappointed when Neo starts to pull away.

"Thank you,' you say, looking away and hoping that she doesn't hear the hitch in your breath, or see the tears falling down your face. " _Thank you._ "

Somehow, you feel cleansed.

You feel gloved fingers wrapping around your chin; and you can't even muster up the will to resist as she makes you meet her gaze. You tense, ready to be mocked. You deserve it. You're too pathetic for words, after all.

To your surprise she doesn't say anything. A hand snakes into one of the pockets of her jacket, retrieving a pink handkerchief with an intricate 'N' emblazoned on the center. She wipes your tears away with it, surprisingly gentle. You flush, humiliated and grateful in equal measure. She's not so bad, when she's like this.

Once she's done wiping away your tears, she tucks away her handkerchief in one of your vest pockets.

'So people _know,'_ she types on her scroll, showing you. You're too drained to object, or question it. So you just nod placidly, taking one last shuddering sigh. She pretends not to notice.

She gets up, extending one dainty hand for you to grab.

'Now let's go somewhere else. Okay?'

"Could we go to The Club?" You ask, trying to look like you _hadn't_ poured your heart out to this girl only minutes before. You're worried about Ivory - she seemed fine, but last you saw her, you were bleeding out from a massive stab wound. You want to check up on her, and tell her you're okay now, confirm that she is too. That, and you want to ask about the attackers. Have they found out who they were?

Scratch that. For what purpose would they attack a nightclub, of all places? The puzzle pieces don't quite _click_. You're missing something here. Something big.

Neo tilts her head at you, nimble fingers typing away. 'Junior's place. Where you got injured, huh?'

Your eyes widen, not expecting Neo to be so well-informed. "How did you...?"

Neo smirks. 'Girl's gotta have some secrets.' She lets out a silent giggle, tapping her forehead with her index finger. 'I assume that's where you killed.' A statement, not a question.

Your face sours, wounds still far too raw, but you nod your head anyway, Neo seems to be considering something - her eyes shift color languidly. Brown and cream. Cream and brown. Then, she snaps her fingers, as if she's captured an errant thought, or come up with the solution to a particularly vexing problem.

'Okay,' she types. And you can feel the cheeriness in those words, even in text form. You feel a tingle crawling up your spine - a warning -, as Neo looks up at you, a strange look in those flickering eyes. 'Let's go!'

She's happy, far too happy. It's not faked, just...you can't really explain it - it's joy, but warped in some inexplicable manner. You shake off these thoughts, you're just imagining things. While Neo's...strange, to say the least. And too sadistic for her own good, at times - she's ultimately a good person, why else would she have comforted you?

Neo twirls her parasol around, strapping the gaudy thing to her belt. Offering her hand to you. Standing up, you gingerly take it, tensing your body in preparation.

The second your hand makes contact with her's - the world _twists_. Inertia and momentum and the very laws of physics themselves bending over and rolling over dead at Neo's feet. Faster than fast. More than speed.

A thousandth thousandth of a second later and you're in The Club, missing a step as your empty stomach roils in protest. Crimson on the walls and the floor and the ceiling meshing with the stars in your vision. You take a breath, letting the decadent and hedonistic scent of The Club - fainter in day time than night by several orders of magnitude - wash over you, purging the nausea in your system.

After you've collected yourself, you take more notice of your surrounding past the crimson pallor that The Club seems so entrenched in. To be specific - the numerous firearms currently pointed at Neo and you. For a second, your mind flashes back to that horrible night. The desperation. The fear. The anger.

You don't even have time to raise your hands in surrender before one of the numerous bodyguards of The Club, who you begin to recognize past the thick haze that drifts through your mind and numbs your thoughts.

"WHO ARE YOU!?" Your panicked mind knows enough that it tells you to speak, to acquiesce to the man's demands. But you can't. Panic and hysteria renders you immobile. Unable to speak. To even _move_. Is this how you're going to die? After that horrible night, are you really going to get killed over a stupid misunderstanding?!

You feel a tug at your sleeve, snapping your head to the source - Neo, who is as belligerent looking as ever, steadfast in the eye of the storm, -, you feel not- _relieved_ , but you'e not as uneasy as you were before. You flash her a smile that crumbles instantly, but there's no denying the thanks in your eyes. Neo nods imperiously, as if your satisfaction is acceptable enough. A bubble of almost-crazed laughter dislodges the lump in your throat.

"J-Jaune Arc!" You manage in a halting tone, almost too quiet to be heard. "I-I was here the night you were attacked!" The men look at you curiously - some have probably recognized you. They whisper among themselves, clenched hands easing on the grips of their weapons.

"AND THE GIRL!?" They're referring to Neo. Panic threatens to burst in and take control once more, as you realize that it's not only _your_ life on the line. But Neo's as well. Sure, she can teleport. But can she do it fast enough to evade a speeding bullet? You don't know, and you don't want to gamble on Neo's life. You breathe in and out, an effort to relax yourself that only throws you deeper into the pit of anxiety.

"She's with me!" You say back. "A friend, she's harmless!" Neo looks amused at all of this - perhaps she hasn't grasped the situation yet.

Firearms fall, level with their side, as their owners look at you with cautious eyes behind their signature crimson shades. There are bags underneath those eyes, and some of them are swaying on their feet. They're tired, these men.

Someone hustles to the friend of the small crowd of bouncers that encircled - nondescript, except for the bullet scar that decorate one of his cheeks. More battle-weathered soldier than security guard - this man is different from his fellows, more capable.

"I'll take you to Junior." There's respect in that intonation of the owner's nickname, far more than you would expect from an employee. He makes a gesture with his hand, and the men disperse, permitting you to see the true state of the club - now that they're not blocking your view.

It doesn't look as wrecked as that nigh - bullet-holes had filled seemingly every corner, back then. The corpses had painted the ground a nauseating color -, but there are no corpses now, no blood. Just the natural color of the club, it's damaged - sure, but less than that night.

Belatedly, as you follow the weathered bouncer, with Neo following close behind - you wonder if that's because they've repaired it so fast, or just because you been out for _that_ long. You realize that you haven't exactly checked the date, a stupid oversight, now that you think about. Well, you don't have a scroll - and the memories of your breakdown makes you far too flustered to look at Neo for long, much less ask her for her scroll.

The scarred man leads you to the back, ascending one of the stairs residing in the four corners of the room, and twisting through the quasi-labyrinthine hallways that resided past the drink-tables. You pass what seem to be private rooms - even bedrooms, for the employees - you guess. The building is larger than it would seem; and the somber ambiance permeating through the air does not help with your nerves. Of course Neo seems totally unbothered, even bored.

Eventually you come across a door, large and ornate. There's no doubt that this room is important.

The scarred man knocks on the door, short, sharp; done in a strange sequence. Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause for half a second. Slightly stronger tap. There's a short pause before anyone answers.

"Come in!" A recognizable voice, deep and masculine. The bouncer opens the door, revealing-!

Junior sits behind a large desk, looking utterly _entrenched_ in the paperwork weighing down on the large oaken piece of furniture. His brows are tightly knit, and the scowl on his face is drenched in anger and frustration. He chokes as he catches sight of Neo (what's the matter?)

But your eyes aren't on Junior.

Ivory looks _terrible_ \- it's like she hasn't slept in _weeks_. She slouches in her seat, in front of Junior's desk. Her tie's nowhere to be found, and her suit is ruffled. There are coffee stains on her collar. Her exhausted, half-open eyes tighten as she sees Neo, but snap wide open as she sees you.

The scarred bouncer excuses himself, perhaps feeling the tension permeating in the room - like the calm before the storm. You envy him.

"Jaune?" She mumbles, voice low - but despite that, it reverberates through the whole room. She stands up, uncharacteristically almost stumbling with the speed of the motion. "We'll finish this later," she snaps over her shoulder, at a pale-faced Junior, who's still staring at Neo as if he had seen a ghost (seriously, what's with him?). She takes long strides at you, hands clenching at her sides. And you're certain that she's gonna clock you.

Neo stands in front of her - you can't see her expression from your position; but it prompts a slightly uncertain look on Ivory's face, before the white-haired woman shakes her head, expression resolute.

"Back off, Neopolitan," Ivory spits, and you're shocked at her vitriol. "This is none of your business."

Neo is silent.

Ivory takes a step forwards.

It takes only a second for you to decide your course of action. You take a step forward, placing a hand on Neo's shoulder. She tenses, a barely notice-able action that leaves you worrying that you've crossed some sort of boundary, but she thankfully relaxes so quick that you wonder if you just imagined it. From the corner of your vision, you see Junior looking at you like you're a madman.

Ivory stops dead in her tracks at your motion, expression unreadable. You can't see Neo's face from here, but you continue speaking anyway, hoping that she'll listen to you and not let the situation escalate further.

"Thank you, Neo," you say sincerely, not saying what you're thanking her for. It doesn't need to be said. "But me and Ivory need to talk."

Everything is silent for a few seconds. Neo turns to you, expression still locked onto that same look of vague amusement, mocking. You tense, expecting to be ignored; but she nods very slowly, stepping aside to give Ivory access to you. You see Ivory and Junior giving the both of you shocked looks, but your attention is on Neo - she's typing something.

'Okay. I'll be here with Junior, having a little chat.' You favor the aforementioned man with a pitying look upon reading the text on the scroll. 'Come back soon, okay?'

You nod quickly, giving her one last appreciative smile. Ivory steps cautiously forward, as if she's expecting a trap of some sort. You're confused, maybe it's because of her clear lack of rest? You gulp as she stands in front of you, emerald gaze locked onto yours. Ultimately, you're the one who looks away.

"Let's talk somewhere else," she says quietly. You nod jerkily, feeling nervous. She goes through the door with one last suspicious look at Neo.

Yes, there's definitely a history there that you don't know about. Unpleasant, by Ivory's reaction - though Neo doesn't seem to see it that way. Amusement is permeating through her right now - you don't think it was out of some attempt at protecting you that led to Neo standing in front of Ivory's path, rather - she just wanted to piss Ivory off, you think. You're not sure - you're not exactly that well acquainted with Neo's mindset.

But she listened to you when you told her to leave Ivory be - what does that mean? Did she do it just to indulge you? Has she taken a liking to you? You're not stupid, you know that Ivory and Junior are intimidated by the diminutive woman, but why? She has a semblance - so, Huntress? But even then, why would they be intimidated by a Huntress? Sure - they were attacked by a rogue Huntsman. But everyone knows that Huntsmen are so strictly regulated that rogues are almost myths.

Argh, you'll just ask later.

Neo winks at you, as you leave the room - brown and cream, changing to cream and cream. What a vexing woman. You can't really bring yourself to really dislike her, though. Then again, Mom always said that you're like a puppy in the way that you never bore any ill will, even to people that are overly antagonistic to you.

Ivory is waiting for you outside; and you take a moment to really understand how disheveled she looks.

"You look terrible," you blurt out. A second later, and you clamp your hands over your mouth, horrified. Damn your mouth! You're cursed, you say, cursed!

Ivory snorts, lips tugging upwards in the first display of positive emotion you've seen from her since you woke up. It raises your spirits - even though the expression is infinitesimal in scope.

"No thanks to a certain someone," she shoots back. You grimace. She turns on her heel, beckoning you to follow. You do - following her as she leads you through the twists and turns of The Club's upper floor. You walk with her in silence.

"This place is..." You begin, floundering for conversation. The awkward tension is too much, and you want to break it. But you can't muster up the nerve, so you drop the topic.

"Maze-like, needlessly-complicated?" Ivory finishes for you. You look at her in surprise, she just keeps looking ahead. You can't see her expression, only the back of her ruffled pitch suit. You nod, but then realize that she can't see you.

"Y-yeah."

Ivory hums, glancing at you with a tired gaze, as she leads you towards hallway after hallway of the same crimson walls, passing door after door. You don't know where she's taking you. She stops in front of a door. It looks different from the other, more ornate. Emerald words, written in clear writing show who this particular room belongs to.

"Your room?" You ask. Ivory nods, and then unceremoniously heads in. You follow her after a second of hesitation.

Spartan - there's a desk. A bed. A nightstand, and another door that probably leads to the bathroom. There's no posters, or anything - but there _is_ a massive amount of paperwork on her desk.

You tear you gaze from the ludicrous amount of work - isn't she just a bouncer? - and turn to look at Ivory, who's sitting on her messy bed. She's sinking into the cushion, leaving you no choice but to sit with her on the one person bead, or stand. You take the second option, of course.

She's looking at you, like she's expecting something from you. There's a frown on her face. You know she's displeased with you - for risking your life and disobeying her. And you don't really blame her.

"I'm sorry," you say, genuine regret in your voice as you bow your head. "I'm sorry for making you worry."

You hear an intake of breath from Ivoy - the sound is angry, somehow.

" _Only_ for making me worry?" You look up to her. She's snarling, frustrated tears in her eyes as she stands up. "Do you even have any idea, any at all, about what you've _done?"_

She's breathing angrily, hands clutched at her side; knuckles bleeding white. You've never seen her lose her composure so - she had remained calm, even when The Club had been attacked. Back then, you'd have believed that the world could have ended - and she would retain that mastery of herself. Evidently, you were wrong.

 _You don't know Ivory_.

But as you witness her practically breaking down in front of you - base anger and frustration -, you know that you'd like to. To understand. So you keep silent, taking it all with nary a twitch, mouth set in your best impression of stoicism.

She throws her hands to the air at your silence, eyes glinting.

"Of course not." She laughs - a dry, almost-sobbing chuckle filled with not- _joy,_ but hysteria and tiredness. "You're like..." She gestures in a way that you don't comprehend, but you get the point by the frustration in the motion. "One of those propaganda Huntsmen - the ones that who think they can save _everyone_ by their _lonesome -_ they show on TV, except you're actually _real_."

Normally, you would have preened at the comparison; but the sheer scorn in her voice tells you that she means it as an insult.

The silence stretches on, wrapping around your throat like a noose. The only sound in that room is the sound of Ivory's breathing. You don't know what to say, the noose is _tightening_ \- sealing your voice, your words inside you, out of your reach.

Ivory closes her eyes. letting out a shuddering breath. Guilt stabs at you, you had done this, with your attempts at heroics - a true hero would make sure that nobody was hurt.

But you're not a true hero.

Your heart hardens - you grit your teeth. You rip apart that noose by sheer force of will.

"I don't regret it." Your words echo throughout the room like a gun shot. Her eyes snap open to meet yours, fury in them. She opens her mouth, but you interrupt her.

"What I did was stupid - I know. A smart person would have ran. I risked it all. Would've made my family mourn me if I died." You know this, knew this when you made the decision. But acknowledging it is different, makes it more pronounced. You can't ignore it any longer. You're truly scum, aren't you? The lowest of the low, so low that he has to drag others to his level just to be happy. That's what it means to be Jaune Arc.

Your shoulders shake. Everything that makes Jaune Arc the coward that he is screams at you not to look at Ivory in the eye, but you ignore it. You meet her tired eyes with your own, and speak - not with flowery words to appease her, but what you truly feel.

"But..." No tears come out - you've already cried all of your tears on Neo's shoulder, and for that you're grateful. You already look pitiful enough. "I thought If I could do _something._ Save _someone..._ "

You gulp, throat feeling awfully dry. Ivory's eyes are softening, but you can't stop. Not now. It's all pouring out now.

"Even if I...had to _kill_ to protect..." The words you speak make you sick to your stomach, make you loathe yourself even more. Because those words are so easy to utter. And it's not the fact that you've killed that bothers you, but how _easy_ it was to snuff out those lives. How dreadfully _simple_ it is to justify taking a person's life.

"Even if had to _die_ to protect..." You think of your sisters, your father, your mother, of Ivory. And you know that what you're saying is unforgivable.

Everyone in the face of Remnant is fundamentally broken in someway, that's what your father used to say - when he had a couple of beers, and your mother was out of ear shot. Everyone is twisted, in some manner. A perfect person is the most unbelievable lie.

"Then it would be _worth it."_

You try to smile, you really do. Ivory stands in a shocked stupor, arms hanging limply at her sides.

" _Jaune..."_ She whispers.

"So I won't apologize." You say, an ember of resolve burning in your chest - blue eyes burning as you reveal yourself for what you truly are. "It'd be a lie. And I won't lie to you. If I had to rewind time to do it all over again, I'd choose the same thing. Every single time. I'd save you and those twins again. Even if it killed me. Even if you wouldn't want me to."

 _Strong words._

Spoken by a fake hero, you finish firmly, recalling that damning word she called you when you were on death's door. A strange feeling of catharsis encases you. You feel accepted by yourself - a strange feeling, like an ethereal pair of hands on your shoulders.

She takes a step towards you, almost stumbling. Seeing the normally composed Ivory acting so dazed finally does it for you. Your legs give out, as you laugh hysterically, madness and all those fuzzy, cloudy feelings overtaking the loathing. If only for a second.

"Jaune!" Ivory is at your side in a moment, as you sit there, on her floor.

"Sorry," you laugh. "It's just...that was all really cheesy, wasn't it?" You give her a watery grin, scratching your head. "I think I embarrassed myself pretty bad."

You can barely contain your snickers, and Ivory joins you, giggling at your plight. You pretend to ignore the tears falling down her eyes, and she does likewise with your shaking frame.

"This isn't over," she promises, voice regaining that same tired twinge, that same lack of levity. "I still hate what you did."

You become silent.

"I know." You nod.

"You're worth more than you seem to think you are, Jaune." You look away at her words, mumbling.

"Thanks," you murmur, as you wrap your hands around her. Ivory freezes, sputtering nonsense - you wish you could see her expression, but your head's rested on her shoulder, so alas. You shift, and Ivory tumbles so that she's sitting on the floor along with you. Why, if someone were to walk in right now - there would probably a pretty big misunderstanding. You chuckle at the thought, not at all worried. You feel light.

"Jaune?" Ivory says your name very quietly, once she's calmed down a bit. You shuffle a bit more, seeking to make yourself comfortable, and pushing your knees against Ivory's in the process. She goes very still at that.

"Yeah?" You ask contentedly. You're quite comfortable where you are. You hope she doesn't want to break the hug - you'd have thought that you'd be flustered with a girl in your arms, lest of all one as pretty as Ivory, but you really can't find yourself to be flustered. You'll probably look back on this moment, later on - face burning in embarrassment. But right now? You don't have anywhere you'd rather be.

She whispers something against your ear, breath tickling sensitive skin. You give out a startled yelp, which prompts a bout of sleepy giggling from her.

"I didn't hear that," you say, once she's gotten control of herself. You can't be too mad though, her genuine laughter brings a smile to your face. "Can you say it again?"

"Fine..." She yawns against your shoulder, tightening her grasp on you. "Could you sleep with me?"

You choke on your own spit, calm broken into thousands of tiny pieces. Neo would've laughed at the startled expression on her face, if she was here. You try to break the hug for a moment, but Ivory won't let you go. Eventually you give up, slacking in her superior grip.

"I-I don't know you that well yet. S-sorry!" You eventually say, squirming in her grip. Ivory makes a confused noise; then one like she's just realized something. Her grip slacks, as she jumps away from you - face burning in embarrassment.

"N-no!" She denies vehemently, "Not like that," she continues quickly. "Just...I dunno. Be my teddy bear?"

"Oh."

A silence falls between you - thick and uncomfortable and not at all like the comforting silence you had shared with her earlier. You can't seem to meet her eyes, and she has exactly the same problem. Internally, you're bashing your head against a proverbial wall for misunderstanding her. What else could she have meant, idiot?

You hear a yawn, Ivory is adorably rubbing at her eyes, slumping in her place at the floor. Her half-lidded eyes catch you staring at her ruffled form, and you quickly look away. Damn it, why are you getting embarrassed _now_? Where has your previous calm gone?

"So?" She sounds as nervous as you feel.

You gulp.

Your answer leaves your mouth before you can think more about it. Your face burns, as a whole new rush of embarrassment registers - you hope you didn't sound too eager. Ivory looks relieved at your answer, smiling at you as she gets up, and makes way for her bed. With a muffled 'oomph', she falls atop the mattress, burying her face in the pillow with a satisfied noise. Your feel like your heart is jumping in your chest as you realize that the bed, while sufficient for a single person, is _not_ enough for two.

Ivory turns to you, a sleepy smile on her face, as she pats some space next to her. Doubt gnaws at you, but you move before you can lose your nerve. You'd feel like a gigantic scumbag if you left her, after giving your assent and everything. No, you won't run away! You'll charge head-first into this challenge!

 _My, my. What a courageous person you are._ Wow, now even your subconscious is mocking you. A new low, even for you.

Shaking those thoughts off, you walk - nearly tripping over your own feet - over to Ivory's bed, gingerly lying down on the edges. Half of your body isn't even on the bed. Ivory tries to pull you closer in, but you remain steadfast. You will not be swayed in this matter. Ivory is an attractive woman whose shown you some modicum of attraction - you feel, as a healthy, hot-blooded young man, that your self-control is not up to par. What if you-!

Interrupting your thoughts, and clearly fed up with you stonewalling her attempts at pulling you closer, she leans over a little, gripping onto your newly-pilfered (you're gonna have to find the store that Neo, erm, _acquired_ these from, and pay them off later) vest; _hauling_ you over so that your half-lying over her. You let out a sound that's more feminine that you'd like to admit, scrambling to get away, but her arms have already locked around you - like Dust-steel chains that will never yield, no matter how hard you struggle.

And struggle you do - but Ivory, even in her half-asleep state, is rather strong; and you don't want to hurt her by trying too hard, so with a defeated groan - you give up on escaping. Ivory does a groggy little victory cheer, arms relaxing their deathgrip on you.

"Ah," she murmurs, eyes drifting closed - a sleepy half-smirk on her face. " _Here's_ my teddy bear."

And then she brings you even closer, switching your positions and draping herself _atop_ you. You flop around like a fish out of water, but her leverage is too great. Her legs entangle with yours, and she rests her chin on your shoulder. She squeezes you affectionately, as if to double-check that you're still here. She makes an appreciative sound when she feels your skin give.

You're well acquainted with being used as a teddy-bear - of course you are! You have seven sisters - but cuddling with a woman that's _not_ part of your family? You're well too aware of your lack of underwear. Damn Neo, damn her to the darkest, dampest pits of hell. You almost wish you had worn the panties. Almost.

" _Ivory_ ," you hiss. " _What-!_ "

But she's already asleep - the gentle rise and fall of her chest meeting yours in steady intervals. _Fuck_ , and now you can't even complain, unless you want to wake Ivory up; you can't quite muster up the guts to do it, however. She looked so dreadfully, _tired_. Like she hadn't slept in days.

Days. Is that how long you've been gone for? Yet another thing that you've been forgetting to think about: how long exactly, have you been out for?

Ivory's grip relaxes around you; but she pushes even closer against you, knee brushing against a very _interesting_ place. You gasp, and then kill the sound before it can stir her. Oh, you're totally dead if she wakes up right now. You shift backwards, making sure to place your pelvic region as far away from Ivory as possible. This leaves you in a rather interesting position however - you're digging your face into her shoulder, and her hands come up to the high of your back and pushes you in even further.

You stay like that, for what seems to you like an eternity - not daring to make a sound. You attempt to sleep, but find that you can't. You can do nothing but stoically weather the storm as Ivory rubs her body against yours like some sort of cat, and you attempt to keep your body as far as possible without waking the sleeping woman.

By sheer force of will, you manage to find sleep.


End file.
